


Waffles

by smarshtastic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2012-04-19
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/pseuds/smarshtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys have a week off from school in February, but John is on a hunt and Sam and Dean have to fend for themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waffles

The school district had this strange break in the middle of February, which, for any normal kid, would be totally awesome, but for the Winchester boys it was decidedly… less than awesome. Their dad was completely oblivious to their school schedule under the best of circumstances, so it was no surprise that he disappeared on a hunt that week they had off, leaving Sam and Dean alone in a dingy motel room for their February holiday.

The week happened to coincide with a snow storm, which made Sam and Dean’s break just a little more unbearable.

The first day wasn’t really so bad. They woke up late and watched cartoons until the TV gave way to bad daytime programming. There was even enough snow on the ground in the motel parking lot to have a decent snowball fight before it got too icy.

The novelty wore off pretty quickly. The second day the same cartoons were playing, the snow had turned to ice and their food supplies ran low. On the third day, they seemed to run out of actual food products. John had left some odds and ends in the little kitchenette of the motel room, but upon closer inspection it was mostly salt. The snow was coming down hard and there wasn’t a pizza place in delivery range, and they probably didn’t have enough cash to feed two growing boys anyway. The boys, grumpy with empty stomachs, bickered back and forth until they had a full-blown argument late in the evening on that third day. Dean caught the corner of the nightstand on his eye when they wrestled; it was going to be a pretty spectacular black eye. Sam felt bad but he wasn’t about to tell Dean that, especially when he was being such a jerk. They went to bed in sullen silence.

The next morning, Sam woke up to find Dean missing. Panic surged unpleasantly in his empty stomach, the anger of the night before forgotten. Sam looked around the motel room, but there was no sign of a struggle and all of their dad’s wards were still properly in place. Dean’s boots and jacket were gone. Sam wondered if Dean had actually run away, something he himself had considered doing on a couple of occasions, but had never worked up the courage to actually do so. He looked out the window to see that it was snowing pretty heavily – the motel parking lot was blanketed in white, and the snow was coming down hard enough to limit visibility. Any tracks Dean might’ve left would be long since gone. Stomach growling, Sam found one of their dad’s army rations in the bottom of a duffle bag and set about some of the school work he was supposed to do over the break. Dean was either going to come back or he wasn’t, but there was no point in going after him in this weather. 

A little after lunchtime, Dean came back caked in snow and chilled to the bone. There were snowflakes in his eyelashes and his jacket was soaked through. He was shivering, but clutching a plastic bag close in a way that suggested his hands might actually be frozen that way. He stomped his boots to shake the snow off in the doorway. 

“Where did you go?” Sam asked, looking up from his bed where he was doing his math homework. 

“F-food,” Dean chattered as he shrugged out of his soaked jacket. Goosebumps dimpled his arms even with the door closed. “Why’s it s-so da-amn cold in here?”

“’cause you opened the door,” Sam said. Dean gave him the bitchiest face he could muster with mostly frozen facial muscles. 

“N-no f-food for you.”

“I found some of dad’s army rations,” Sam shrugged. He pointed to some foil packages on the rickety kitchen table. 

“Sc-screw that-t-t,” Dean said, sweeping the rations off the table, careless of where they fell. He set the plastic bag on the table. “I got-t real f-food.”

“Maybe you should take a hot shower or something,” Sam suggested, stretching on the bed. Now that Dean mentioned it, it was kind of cold in the motel room. He hadn’t noticed because he had been wrapped up in bed while he did his homework. He got up to peek in the plastic bag, but his older brother batted him away. Dean’s hand was icy. 

“No, I’m freakin’ st-starving,” Dean said, squinting at his brother around a deep purple black eye. He started pulling things out of the bag – butter, maple syrup, waffle mix, milk, eggs and bacon – fingers fumbling and still mostly numb. Sam blinked. 

“What are you gonna cook that with? The iron?” Sam asked. 

“D-don’t be a s-smart ass, Sammy,” Dean said, moving to dig through one of the kitchenette cabinets. He pulled out a battered old waffle iron, a glint in his eye. “I found this while you were s-still snoring.”

“Have you even ever made waffles?”

“Hey, you don’t have to eat ‘em,” Dean said, digging out a battered metal bowl. Sam didn’t say anything – he was pretty damn hungry after all. He watched Dean haphazardly start throwing ingredients into the bowl, getting bits of egg shell in the mix. His older brother looked around for a spoon or something to stir the mixture together, but there weren’t any kitchen implements to be found. 

“Where’d you get this stuff, anyway?” Sam asked. He really wanted to ask “how,” seeing as their dad only left a very limited amount of cash behind for his sons, and it was still safely in the can in one of their bags. Sam had checked when he first realized Dean was missing. 

“There was a gas station a little way down the highway, a couple miles I guess,” Dean said as he dug through some bags. Sam frowned. “Aha!” Dean held up a knife with a long handle. He wrapped a towel around the blade and used the handle to mix up the waffle mix. 

Sam blinked. “Did you make sure that was clean before you just – “

“It’s gonna get cooked, calm down,” Dean said dismissively. He peeked in the bowl. “Hm.”

He opened up the waffle iron and poured in some mix, tongue between his teeth, concentrating. He closed the lid, plugged in the waffle iron, and looked down at his baby brother. “Waffles,” he nodded, looking pleased with himself. “Five minutes, says the box. You watch it, I’m putting on some dry clothes.”

Sam dutifully sat down at the table to watch the waffle iron while Dean peeled off his damp clothes. He was still shivering, but the dry clothes helped. Dean even managed to find some socks with minimal holes.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“How are you going to make the bacon?”

“In the waffle iron.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. You don’t think it’ll work?”

“It’s a waffle iron.”

“So?”

Sam sighed and lifted the lid of the waffle iron, but the waffle was sticky and mostly uncooked. He frowned. “You said five minutes, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean trotted back over. “It’s not ready yet?”

Sam shook his head. “It’s all gooey.”

Dean frowned and fiddled with the temperature settings. “Maybe it’s the waffle iron. It’s kind of old.”

“We still have some of those army rations if it doesn’t work,” Sam said, bending to pick up the foil packets off the floor. 

“Yeah, I ain’t going out there again,” Dean said, glancing out the window. It was mostly white outside, the snow still coming down hard. “It’s kind of cold in here, huh?” 

“I’ll turn the heat up more,” Sam said. Dean turned the temperature of the waffle iron up more, his stomach growling in anticipation. 

A few minutes later, Sam sniffed the air. “Dean? Dean – I think it’s burning.”

Dean scrambled to the waffle iron, swearing. He burned his fingers getting the waffle out, but it was only a little burnt. “Sammy, here – “ Dean dropped the waffle on a crumpled napkin and poured some syrup over it before holding it out to his little brother. 

“Are you giving me your burned waffle?”

“D’you wanna eat or not? It’s not even that burned.”

Ultimately, Sam’s hunger won over and he took the waffle from Dean. It was drowning in syrup, thanks to his brother’s tastes, but it actually wasn’t completely awful. Much better than the freeze-dried army rations, anyway. The next waffle came out more singed than the first, but Dean wolfed it down without comment nor complaint. He made another batch of waffles for himself and Sammy before he even tried getting the bacon to cook on the waffle iron. The bacon wasn’t a complete failure, though getting it out of the grooves of the waffle iron proved to be pretty damn difficult. Dean burned his fingers and the bacon didn’t really get as crispy as he usually liked, but hell, it was better than nothing. 

As far as meals went, the Winchester brothers had had a lot worse. At least their bellies were full and their argument from the day before was forgotten. 

The only problem now was how cold the motel room was. The heat was all the way up, but nothing was coming out. Dean and Sam huddled together on one bed, waffles in their laps and a blanket around their shoulders. They fell asleep trying to steal each other’s warmth with the TV on, some old western movie playing.


End file.
